


This and That, Dribs and Drabs

by RosieTheRo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blowjobs, Break Up, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Fluff, Group Sex, Hetalia Kink Meme, Historical References, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Monster people au, Multi, Nyotalia, Pokemon AU, Polyamory, Polyshipping, Song fic, Werewolf AU, angel au, cloning, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 17,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10385775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieTheRo/pseuds/RosieTheRo
Summary: A collection of mini-fics and drabbles of various characters, ships, and ratings. Content/warnings are given before each chapter. Tags and table of contents will be updated with each story added.Latest: "some misguided sense of nobility" - AmeLiet, Yuri!! on Ice-inspired au





	1. Index

I decided to put this thing together for organization's sake, since I feel like my works page is kind of cluttered with too many mini-fics. The general rule of thumb is anything under 1,000 words will go here, but there may be some exceptions.

1- Index  
2 - Reconciliation - G-rated LietPol drabble with some angst and historical references  
3 - big, but not so bad - G-rated LietPol werewolf!au  
4 - Snake Smooches - PG-rated naga!America/Lithuania, kissing and PDA, references to Lithuanian folklore  
5 - Take You Home - G-rated angel!au featuring Canada and England, hints of UKCan, implied character death  
6 - many, many - M-rated LietAme PWP involving a cloning machine  
7 - Dawn and Dusk - PG-rated LietPol with a different werewolf!au  
8 - Untitled - M-rated AmeLiet PWP with under-the-desk blowjobs  
9 - Blackbird - G-rated, LietPol hurt/comfort  
10 - Daisies and Roses - G-rated, EstLat fluff and flowers  
11 - Truth or Dare - M-rated LietPol, contains drinking and NSFW dialogue  
12 - Swing Dancing in Pajamas - G-rated LietPol and AmeLiet, fluff and polyamory/polyshipping  
13 - Fussing - G-rated EstLiet fluff  
14 - Untitled - G-rated Poketalia drabble with rival!Latvia  
15 - Velvet Gold - M-rated UKCan PWP, warning for drunk sex  
16 - Tally - G-rated LietPol and AmeLiet, Poland adjusts to Lithuania being in a poly relationship  
17 - do me a favor? - G-rated LietPol superhero AU, Solar Flare asks Iron Wolf for a favor.  
18 - Hey, You - PG-rated human AU with Lithuania/nyo!Poland friendship, inspired by saucybroswithbenefits' papa!liet au  
19 - Untitled - G-rated drabble, AmeLiet-ish if you squint  
20 - Untitled - PG-rated purple prose about Lithuania and kissing, with LietPol, EstLiet, AmeLiet, and LietLat, PDA and polyshipping  
21 - A Difficult Conversation - G-rated AmeLiet bittersweet break-up fic  
22 - Untitled - T/M-ish CanLat fluff in the shower, nondescript nudity and kissing  
23 - Untitled - PG AmeLiet, angst with a happy ending  
24 - keep trying - G AmeLiet-ish, Alfred brings Toris some ice cream  
25 - True Beauty - G Francis comes to the defense of a literal trash bag, poketalia  
26 - some misguided sense of nobility - PG Ame Liet, Yuri!! on Ice-inspired au, some strong language  



	2. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally uploaded 2016-06-23.

Sometime in 1991, in Lithuania’s foyer.

“So, like… take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, you too.”

“…Heh.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I just… I guess I’m happy that you let me come in. I was sure you’d slam the door in my face once you realized it was me.”

“…Maybe I would have a few decades ago.”

“You’re still mad?”

“I… Yes. Not nearly as much as I was. …Not nearly enough to make me turn you away this time. I’m… God, I’m just too tired to bother fighting right now.”

“I can’t even blame you for that. I mean, jeez, I’ve had two years already to get sorted and I’m still scrambling to get myself together. Especially after all that… nonsense.”

“It’s a tough climb, huh?”

“Sure is. But, hey, call if you need any anything, alright? I don’t have much right now, but, like, if I can help…”

“I will. Thank you.”

“It’s gonna be totally worth it.”

“I know.”

A pause.

Lithuania shuffles his feet.

Poland’s hand fidgets on the door frame.

“Well… Guess I’ll be off, then.”

“Right. Uhm, keep in contact, okay? I know I said I was still mad, but… I don’t want to be anymore. I want to be friends again, and… and I know you’re sorry, so… don’t be a stranger?”

“Heh, right. Will do.”

Their eyes meet, then glance away.

The air feels thick.

“Hey, Liet?”

“Hmm?”

“I won’t make you regret trusting me this time. I promise.”

“…I believe you. Thank you, Po.”

Poland smiles as he closes the door.

Lithuania is still smiling after it’s closed.


	3. big, but not so bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on 2014-12-21 as a response to this kink meme request:  
> http://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/74871.html?thread=449052023#cmt449052023

The night air was warm and thick with humidity, droning with buzzing and chirping insects and the occasional growl or cry from one of the forest’s more dangerous inhabitants.

It was cooler underground though, cool enough in a little den dug under a hill for Feliks to curl up closer to his companion, bury his face in a patch of thick, brown fur, and sigh happily.

“We should do this more often,” he mumbled, threading his fingers through the fur and scratching lightly. “I love spending the night out here.”

The creature he was leaning against shifted, a long arm ending in a rough, padded hand coming up to wrap around the smaller boy and pull him closer. “If we’re going to do that I’m moving closer to your house,” Toris said. “I’m not the only thing with claws and teeth out here, you know. I don’t want you wandering out in the trees for too long at night.”

“You worry too much,” Feliks huffed, tapping the end of Toris’s snout and making his ears flinch. “You're like, one of the meanest-looking things out here, and your smell is all over me. I don’t think there’s anything stupid or hungry enough out there to come after me like that.”

“You’d be surprised how desperate some of them can get out here,” Toris mused, looking distractedly out the entrance to his den, ears rigidly upright. Feliks had no idea if he’d actually heard something, or if he was straining to make sure there really was nothing around.

“Hey,” he said, scooting further up Toris’s body and scratching at a spot on his neck. “If something does come, you’re gonna hear and smell it way before it notices we’re here. Chill out a little, okay? I came out here to be with you, and you’re kinda bumming me out.”

Toris looked back down at him, and smiled apologetically. “Alright. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Feliks said sweetly, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his muzzle. “I can’t blame you for being careful.”

Toris kissed him back as best he could, flicking his tongue against the boy’s cheek, making him giggle and wrinkle his nose.

“Are you warm enough?” Toris asked, rough hands resting at the boy’s slim waist. “I’ve got some animal skins in the back of the den if you need them.”

“I’m cuddling a living fur coat, I think I’ll be okay,” Feliks chuckled. He curled up closer to Toris, against his chest, and muffled a yawn. “I know you’ll take good care of me.”

The tip of Toris’s tail twitched happily as he let himself relax as well, ears still primed to catch approaching footsteps, but his yellow-green eyes on the boy starting to doze in his arms. He nuzzled the spot behind Feliks’s ear, prompting a sleepy giggle.

“I always will.”


	4. Snake Smooches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 2016-11-04. I heard about this little bit of folklore in a Baltic culture class I took while abroad in Tartu.

Toris didn’t think he was particularly good at flirting, but he figured it was worth a shot anyway.

“So,” he said abruptly, shifting on the couch beside his roommate. “There’s this folktale in my home country that if you kiss a snake, it’ll bring you great happiness.”

If it didn’t work out, he could play it off as just sharing an interesting bit of trivia from his homeland.

He tried to keep his eyes on the TV. It wasn’t playing anything really worth watching, just reruns of an old cop drama that Alfred had put on to veg to out for the afternoon. Toris hoped he looked casual, like he was zoning out and lazily focused on the show, but he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from flicking over to the other side of the couch. Alfred was leaning against the arm rest, his long body coiled underneath him, rattle-tipped tail draped over the back of the couch. He looked comfortable, cozy, and Toris felt the embarrassing urge to trace his fingers along the copper-colored scales creating a pattern of diamonds along his back. He wondered if it would tickle.

“…That so?” Alfred asked, keeping his eyes on the TV. He sounded like he was intrigued.

“That’s what they say, anyway,” Toris said. He wasn’t sure if he should go for aloof or not, and just hoped he didn’t sound desperate. “I mean, I’ve never tried it.”

The unspoken invitation hung heavily in the air. Toris realized he was sitting very stiffly.

“…Do you want to try it?”

He turned. Alfred was looking at him now, bright blue eyes alert and focused, the beginnings of a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Toris smiled, and hoped it looked charming. “Are you offering?”

Alfred’s face split into a sharp-toothed grin. “Sure am.”

He leaned forward, coils slithering and sliding as he braced one hand against the back of the couch, tucking the other under Toris’s chin and lifting his head up to press their mouths together.

Relieved, Toris nearly laughed out loud, but settled for a soft, happy hum and closed his eyes. He lifted a hand, cupping it against Alfred’s cheek and stroking his thumb across the copper scales scattered there, tilting his head and parting his lips slightly.

He did laugh out loud when he felt Alfred’s tongue flick out, pulling back with a giggle as the forked tip tickled his sensitive lips. Alfred laughed too, soft and happy, fangs exposed in a wide smile that lit up his whole face.

“I should be honest with you,” Toris admitted, curling his fingers together with Alfred’s and stroking his knuckles. “That folktale… it only works with little grass snakes you find in the wild. I don’t think it includes rattlesnakes. I’m sorry.”

Alfred blinked, but didn’t look disheartened. “Well, are you happy?”

It was hard not to laugh again, so Toris didn’t bother holding back the small, breathy chuckle in his throat. “Yes, very.”

“Seems to work just fine to me, then.”

Toris felt Alfred’s tail shift and curl, coiling loosely around his legs, and couldn’t stop smiling as he tugged him back down against the armrest.


	5. Take You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 2013-01-01. Implied character death.

The first thing Matthew noticed, before he could take in the black space around him or the lack of sound, was that for the first time in years, he didn't feel sick. His breathing was natural, not shaky and rattling like it had been for so long, and his limbs had recovered the strength and stability they had lost.

He wasn't afraid, and he didn't feel like he should have been. This place, wherever it was, was dark and open, but it didn't frighten him. It was soothing almost, compared to the white walls and crowded electronic monitors that had made up his room for most of his life. It was like the only things that existed in the world were him, his bear, and the hospital pajamas he still wore.

There was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, an expectation of some sort, like he was waiting for something. Not anything bad, or even good, just… something.

So he sat on his knees in the darkness, little white bear propped up in his lap, and waited patiently.

The something came, but Matthew could not say if it had been only a few seconds or hours before it arrived. It didn't matter to him anyway, he was just happy to see someone. The something started as a white light, either very small or very far away, and grew bigger and brighter until it formed another young man, clad in a short toga and sandals, standing before Matthew with a polite smile on his face. The light that formed his body shifted and condensed to the top of his head, forming a golden ring above his messy sand-blond hair.

Matthew smiled back, somehow knowing this was someone he could trust, and feeling like this was someone he'd been waiting to meet for a long time.

"Are you ready to go, love?" the man asked, his green eyes sparkling almost as bright as his halo.

"Mm-hmm," Matthew answered, shifting to stand up, but the man held a hand up to stop him.

"Just one more thing we need to take care of, first," he said, crouching down to Matthew's level. He produced from somewhere in the folds of his toga a bright, golden ring, identical to the one which adorned his own head. He lifted it up, over Matthew's head, and then let it go. Matthew could feel it above him, giving off a gentle, radial warmth from where it hovered. It spread through him, making him feel soft and calm all over, like hot chocolate but a hundred times better.

"There we are," the man said, brushing his hands. "Suits you rather well, I think."

"Thank you." Matthew felt his cheeks heat up a little.

"Now then," the man said as he stood up and offered a hand down to Matthew. "Shall we get going?"

"Okay," Matthew responded, taking the hand and standing as well, bear tucked under his other arm.

His smile as bright as his eyes and his halo, the man kept his hold on Matthew's hand as he led him through the darkness, towards something better, something beautiful. Matthew, his legs strong and his stride sure for the first time since he could remember, followed gladly.


	6. many, many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on 2014-11-22. NSFW, cloning, group sex

America wasn't quite feeling overwhelmed, but he was pretty close to it.

How many times had he come so far tonight? Four, five? He'd lost count a while ago, more focused on making sure every single copy of his boyfriend got to come too.

He was flat on his back on the bed, one Lithuania between his legs and fucking him, another straddling him and riding his cock. America had his head tipped back, sucking on a third Lithuania's cock, and two more were kneeling on either side of the group, America stroking them both off. Beyond them, he could see and hear the others sitting on the bed or standing around it, all waiting their turns. He could hear their low murmurs and praises mixed in with the gorgeous sounds the ones he was currently pleasing were making. They reached out to touch him, stroking his chest or caressing his face or even just grabbing his ankle and kissing the knobby bone there. Others knelt beside him, jerking themselves off and spilling their seed onto his chest and stomach. Still more were already preparing to ride his cock, working themselves open with slick fingers, or even preparing each other. He felt completely smothered by touches, kisses, and come, and by the many, many pairs of green eyes on him at all times.

The Lithuania fucking him came with the same long, lovely moan that all the others had before him, adding to the coating of semen building up inside of America before pulling out. America came too (for the seventh time maybe?) trembling a little as he released his load and softened inside the Lithuania on his cock.

He pulled his lips away from the cock hovering by his face to mumble "M'sorry, I couldn't hold it-" only to be cut off with a gentle "Hush," as the Lithuania straddling him lifted off his cock, shifted down between his legs, and started thrusting into him instead.

America's voice dissolved into something happy, incoherent, and mumbling, muffled as the cock was popped back into his mouth, which he eagerly swallowed. He grew hard again fairly soon under all the attention, and yet another Lithuania took his place atop his cock. He cracked an eye open, watching the two he had in his hands leaning over him, kissing each other, faces red and voices rising before spilling at almost the same time against America's palms. They slipped away, and America immediately groped around for a new pair of cocks to grab. He could taste precome on his tongue and sucked harder, encouraging the Lithuania in his mouth to fuck his throat, ready to swallow his load and then open wide for yet another cock. Past the limbs and bodies of the copies directly around him, he could spot a couple who'd apparently gotten a little impatient, and now one Lithuania was fucking another over the desk.

He vaguely wondered in the back of his mind when Tony was going to sort this cloning machine thing out. He'd lost count of the number of Lithuanias there were around 25, and he could still see new ones poking their heads into the bedroom, enticed by the sounds they were all making.

A part of him kind of hoped Tony would never get the thing fixed.


	7. Dawn and Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on 2016-06-27 for #aphrarepairweek2016 on tumblr. Contains non-descript nudity and mentions of animal death.

Feliks sees him off every time.

Just after sunset and just before moonrise, he stands on the back porch, Toris in front of him, barefoot and wearing cheap clothes that both of them know will be torn to shreds soon. Feliks hugs him tight and tells him to stay safe out there. He worries, a lot, about whether the clothes will be enough to keep him warm before he changes, or if there's something bigger and meaner than him out there in the woods, or if he'll run into some poacher who'll panic and shoot without thinking.

Toris promises he'll be safe, he always does. He always starts to get twitchy right about now too, scratching uncomfortably at his skin, shifting from foot to foot uneasily and glancing up at the sky.

Feliks kisses him good-bye quickly and watches him dash across the backyard and into the woods, vanishing among the trees like he belongs there. On nights like this, he does, and Feliks has to trust him to know what he's doing out there.

He goes to bed not long after. He usually sleeps fine, but sometimes he lays awake and worries, then gets frustrated, because he knows he needs to be up early tomorrow morning.

Sometimes, he can hear howls from the forest nearby. It's reassuring, and it helps him relax.

Eventually, he gets to sleep one way or another.

Just after the moon sets and just before the sun rises, he wakes up to something scratching at the back door. Part of him wants to ignore it, tug a pillow over his head and go back to sleep, but he can't just leave Toris out there. So, he crawls out of bed and stumbles to the backdoor, not even batting an eye at the horse-sized wolf standing there patiently. He's relieved to see him in one piece, sure, but he's also half-asleep and it's way too early to even think properly yet, so he throws open the door wordlessly and lets the wolf in.

The wolf is calm after a night out in the woods, obediently hopping up on the bed and settling down to sleep. Feliks crawls on after him, curling up in the little bit of space the huge wolf hasn't taken up. It's annoying, working around such a large bedmate, but the wolf's fur is warm and soft and wonderful to snuggle up to, especially on colder mornings. They both fall asleep easily.

Sometimes, Feliks wakes up an hour or so later, when pale light is filtering through the window, finding Toris naked and splayed awkwardly on the bed. His palms and the bottoms of his feet are usually dirty, and there's often leaves or twigs stuck in his hair. Sometimes, there's faint smudges of dried blood around his mouth, and Feliks is oddly comforted that he didn't go hungry during the night, even though he does feel for whatever poor little woodland critter Toris caught.

Toris sleeps long and deep on these mornings, having spent the whole night running and hunting and baying at the moon, his body tired and aching after all that. If they have nothing urgent to do that day, Feliks will wrap the blanket around the both of them, getting in a few more hours of sleep.

That's their routine, once every month, as reliable as the cycle of the moon itself.


	8. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, blowjobs

_Toris needs to relax way more often than he actually does,_ Alfred thought to himself.

Which was the exact reason he was currently kneeling under Toris’s desk, mouth full of his boyfriend’s cock, Toris’s fingers gripping him by the hair, and giving the best damn blowjob he could muster. He’d suggested it as a joke at first, seeing Toris with his head in his hands and staring helplessly at the massive spread of paperwork on his desk. He wanted to help somehow, ease Toris’s stress with a bit of crude humor, but when Toris looked up at him with slightly desperate eyes and asked, “Do you mean it?” Alfred decided his offer was in fact serious.

Besides, he kind of got off on giving oral as much as he did receiving it, so it wasn’t like it was a huge chore for him.

He hummed happily as he slid his lips over Toris’s cock head and down his shaft, rubbing his tongue across the underside and enjoying the fingers scratching his scalp and the panting breaths from above him. He slipped a thumb into Toris’s open fly, stroking the crease between his thigh and hip, a sensitive, slightly ticklish spot that tended to make Toris squirm in a very good way. There was a short gasp from above and Toris’s hips bucked slightly, Alfred feeling satisfyingly smug as he took his boyfriend to the base, nose nestled against his brown curls and thumb rubbing affectionate circles against his hip bone.

“Ah-Alfred-”

The hand in his hair nudged his head slightly, but Alfred stayed right where was, eagerly deep-throating Toris’s cock. He appreciated the warning, and knew Toris would hate to do something like that without him knowing about it first, but he was more than happy to let Toris come in his throat, swallowing with a contented hum.

Toris was smiling down at him when he pulled back, his eyes shining and his posture significantly more relaxed. He murmured his name again, and Alfred’s heart melted at the pleasant breathlessness of his voice, the way his accent caught the “r” sound and rolled it so beautifully.

He beamed up at Toris, resting his cheek against one knee. “Hm?”

“Do you want me to…”

Always so kind, always sure to reciprocate. He didn’t need to finish the question; Alfred was already leaning up to kiss his smile, taking his hand and rubbing his thumb against his knuckles.

“Don’t you have work?”

He was mostly teasing when he asked that.

“I deserve a break.”

 _I’m finally getting through to him,_ Alfred thought with a chuckle as Toris’s hand slid into his jeans.


	9. Blackbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on 2013-01-01. Response to a kink meme request for fics inspired by Beatles songs. Contains scars and vague references to past trauma.

Feliks awoke very suddenly, eyes opening in the dark bedroom. He lay there for a short while, piled under the blankets, wondering what it was that had stirred him. The window was closed, and it wasn't too cold, so what is the world…

And he heard it again ; a soft, small, melodic voice drifting through the house in the dead of night. He sat up, sending his blanket tumbling onto the floor, and stared at his door in amazement.

_No way... I haven't heard him singing in years!_

He slipped out of bed and into his slippers, padding as stealthily as he could out of his bedroom and across the hall, to the guest room. The door was open a crack, and he could hear the tune wafting through the air. It was slow and it was sad, but it was there, flowing through words so old that few understood them and even less spoke them. As far as Feliks was concerned, it was still a definite improvement from the timid silence of the last few decades.

He nudged the door gently and it swung open without a sound, revealing a small, but cozy room awash in moonlight. The window was wide open and the curtains pulled aside, letting a cool breeze, as soft and slow as the song, waft into the room.

Despite the chill, Toris was bare from the waist up, sitting on the side of his bed, staring out the window into the dark, black night. Feliks grimaced at the ragged, uneven scars criss-crossing his friend's back, but was soon distracted by his voice instead. It was practically a whisper, tiny and cautious, as if afraid that if it were too loud, it would be silenced all together, but there was strength underlying those ancient words, a determination to be heard, to prove itself.

Feliks was debating on whether he should step farther into the room or return to his own bed, when the floorboards made up his mind for him. He shifted his weight slightly and they creaked, the sound cutting through the night like a knife. The singing stopped abruptly, Toris whipping around and staring his friend in the doorway, eyes wide, before looking away quickly, ears turning pink as he stuttered an apology.

"S-Sorry, I must have woken you-"

"It's okay."

Toris glanced back up, still looking guilty and embarrassed, like he had been caught doing something shameful.

Feliks hesitated a moment, and then stepped past the door and into the room. He clambered across the bed and sat wordlessly next to his old friend, chin resting on his knees and arms curled round his legs. He felt Toris's eyes on him, but kept his gaze on the open window. Eventually, the other nation followed his line of sight and they looked out into the night together, silent.

"Haven't heard you singing in a while," Feliks murmured into the quietude.

Toris made a small, noncommittal noise, apparently still abashed.

"…You should do it more often."

By the time Feliks turned his head, Toris was already looking at him again. In the shadows of the night, his eyes looked sunken and his face much older, but there was a light in his gaze, like he seeing properly despite the gloom. Feliks's lips quirked into a smile, surprisingly shy and completely honest, and dropped a hand on top of the other's, still resting on the bed.

"I mean it, Liet. You can sing whenever you want, now."

And Toris finally smiled, the expression blossoming on his face like it had been waiting for this very moment to arise. A warm, gentle a sort of joy fluttered in Feliks's chest.

_That's it, Liet. Take these broken wings and learn to fly…_


	10. Daisies and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on 2016-07-02. A more in-depth exploration of this headcanon:  
> http://rosiethero.tumblr.com/post/145034566094

Estonia’s not very romantic, but he is perceptive.

That’s why, even though he knows they’ll be dead in a week, he picks up a bouquet of white daisies and red roses while he’s out running errands, because Latvia has been rather high-strung and stressed lately and Estonia thinks he could do with a little pick-me-up.

He’s not very romantic, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the smile that blossoms on Latvia’s face when he comes home that evening to find the daisies and roses arranged in his favorite vase on the kitchen table. He enjoys the kisses too, and when Latvia hugs him tight and thanks him, saying he needed something like that today.

Latvia’s week does get better after that, and he’s still cheerful while he’s cutting up the wilted flowers and tossing them in the compost. Estonia watches, sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen counter, and an old question pops back into his mind.

He’s been hesitant to ask it before, worried about upsetting Latvia. Latvia isn’t delicate per se, but he can be a bit sensitive, especially if he’s already stressed. He can also be very self-conscious about the things that make him happy, particularly things seen as immature or childish. Estonia thinks it’s to do with his stunted growth and youthful face, and he wants make sure everyone else views him as a mature, grown-up nation despite how he looks, and he can understand that. So, he usually holds his tongue and lets Latvia like what he likes, not wanting to make him feel judged for it.

Latvia’s in a good mood today though, so bringing it up now probably isn’t going to make him feel too bad.

“So, I have to ask,” Estonia begins, breaking the quiet in the kitchen.

Latvia dumps a handful of wilted petals in the compost bin and gives him a curious look. “Hm?”

“What exactly is the appeal of flowers?”

“Well, they’re pretty,” Latvia replies, cutting up the stems again. “They add a bit of color to the room, and they smell nice. Plus, getting them as a gift just feels good, especially when someone remembers your favorites.”

He smiles, holding up a slightly limp daisy before tossing it away.

“I understand most of that,” Estonia muses. “It’s the gift part that I don’t get. I mean, why is it romantic to get someone something that’ll be dead in a week? Why not something more permanent?”

Latvia pauses then, looking thoughtful.

“If you think about it,” he says. “It kind of represents how an actual relationship works, you know?”

Estonia raises an eyebrow. “That it’ll be dead in a week?” Latvia can be pessimistic sometimes, but that’s incredibly dower, even for him.

Latvia snorts, shaking his head. “No, I mean that you have to keep replenishing it.” He starts cutting up rose stems, careful of the thorns. “You don’t just say ‘I love you’ and then everything works put perfectly, right? You have to work at it, even if you’ve spent years together. There’s always going to be tough conversations to have and issues that come up, and if you don’t work through them, it falls apart. So, sure, you have to get new flowers all the time, but you have to work and communicate all the time if you want to make relationship last.” He shrugs with a little smile. “That’s how I see it, anyway.”

Estonia hums, propping his head up on his hands. “I think I like how you see it,” he says, giving a little smile. He likes anything that can make Latvia feel optimistic.

Latvia’s cheeks are pink as he wipes the counter clean of stray petals, and then walks around the counter and hugs Estonia snugly.

“I know you don’t get romance,” he mumbles against Estonia’s hair. “But, thanks for humoring me.”

Estonia wraps an arm around him and hugs him back. “Romantic gestures may not mean much to me, but you do.”

He can feel Latvia smiling against his scalp and hugs him tighter.


	11. Truth or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silly LietPol fic, contains drinking and nsfw dialogue.

“Okay, okay, your turn again, truth or dare?”

Decently inebriated and no longer questioning why he was spending his evening off sitting on his living room floor with Feliks and playing a drunken round of a game typically meant for adolescent slumber parties, Toris hummed in thought, taking a sip of his beer to give himself thinking time.

“Truth,” he decided. Taking “dare” had already gotten him shirtless and sporting pigtails that evening, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what else Feliks wanted to do with him. Still, he took another drink, preemptively fortifying himself.

“Lame,” Feliks scoffed. “But, whatever. Uuuumm… What’s the weirdest thing you’ve stuck up your butt?”

Toris spluttered into his beer, face turning pink. “What kind of question is that?”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve gotta answer it,” Feliks grinned lopsidedly, swirling his drink in its bottle.

Toris shook his head, huffing. “I’ve never put anything ‘weird’ up… there. Just toys and other peoples’, uhm… appendages.”

Feliks laughed so hard he snorted, rolling back on the floor. Toris’s face turned redder.

“Come on!” Feliks insisted, now lying on his back and grinning up at Toris, still giggling. “There’s gotta be something!”

“Not _everyone_ gets experimental with produce, you know,” Toris replied, folding his arms and trying to look as stern as he could with pink ribbons in his hair.

“I put a condom on it!” Feliks said defensively, sitting upright. “Anyways, it reminded me of you, that’s the only reason I did that.”

Toris stared at Feliks like he’d grown a second head. “How on Earth did a _cucumber_ remind you of me?!”

“It matched your eyes,” Feliks shrugged. 

Toris blinked. Actually, that was kind of sweet…

“And it was like, about the same size as your dick so-”

“That’s enough,” Toris cut him off. “So, moving on-”

“You never told me what weird thing you stuck up your butt.”

_“I’ve never stuck anything weird up my butt!”_

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Ah, man, bummer.” Feliks sipped his drink. “Alright, my turn then.”

“Truth or dare?” Toris huffed.

“Dare,” Feliks said automatically. “And make it good this time!”

Toris sighed, drumming his fingers against the carpet and looking up at the ceiling. Feliks had been picking “dare” all evening, and he was running out of ideas.

“I dare you to… take these ribbons out of my hair.”

“Aw, come on!”

“And put them in your hair.”

“…yeah, I’m cool with that.”

Feliks’s fingers were getting clumsy as they untied the ribbons, Toris flinching when his hair was tugged a little too hard. “Hey, careful-!”

“Sorry, nearly done! There we go!”

Feliks sat back down, fiddling with his own hair as Toris nursed his scalp.

“Okay, truth or dare?” Feliks asked, grinning and now sporting an asymmetrical pair of pigtails.

“Dare,” Toris decided. He didn’t really want Feliks asking more questions about his butt. 

“I dare you to let me lick your abs!”

“What?”

“Come on, you’re just flaunting them over there, how can I not want to lick them?”

“Need I remind you that you’re the one who dared me to take my shirt off.”

“And now I’m daring you to let me lick them!”

Toris rolled his eyes and emptied his bottle in a big gulp, then leaned back, pointedly not looking at Feliks. “Fine, have your fun.”

Feliks actually squealed, getting on his hands and knees in front of Toris and clumsily pressing his face against his stomach.

His tongue tickled, making Toris squirm. Feliks lapped at his belly button, then abruptly dropped lower, practically to his waistband.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Toris said firmly, pushing Feliks’s shoulder. “Neither of us is sober enough for _that_ right now.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Feliks said, sounding slightly dejected as he sat up. “Remind me that I owe you a blowjob later, though.”

“You really don’t, it’s fine.”

“No wait, lemme write it on my hand, or I’ll forget.”

“Feliks-!”

He was already reaching for a pen from the coffee table.

“Owe… Liet… B.J.,” he mumbled as he wrote it out, Toris rubbing a hand over his red face in exasperation.

“I just hope your boss doesn’t see that.”

“Oh my god, that’d be hilarious though!”

“No it wouldn’t!”

“Who’s turn is it?”

Toris blinked at the abrupt change of subject, before remembering that they were playing a game.

“Yours,” he said. “Truth or dare?”

“Eh, truth,” Feliks shrugged. 

A little relieved, Toris now found himself wracking his brain for a good question. “Okay, okay, uhm… What is… your ultimate sexual fantasy?”

“Oh my god, just, like, dicks everywhere!”

Toris blinked, a little taken aback by such an enthusiastic response. “Uhh.”

“No, like, I’m super serious,” Feliks went on, gesturing widely and sloshing his drink. “If I could just be in a room with like, ten people and be getting fucked by them all, I would be _so_ down with that!”

“Watch the carpet!” Toris cried, taking Feliks’s drink before he could wave it around too wildly.

“Strap-ones would be fine too,” Feliks went on, oblivious to the interruption. “Or toys in general. And like, maybe even more than ten people, the more the merrier, y'know?”

“I. Yes. Well,” Toris mumbled, coughing loudly into his hand, trying to shake the very vivid mental image he now had. His face felt incredibly warm.

“What about you?” Feliks asked, leaning forward. “Any super-secret fantasies you’ve got tucked away?”

Toris’s face got warmer. “I, uhm… I guess so…”

“Detaaaails!” Feliks squealed, grinning wide.

Toris fiddled with Feliks’s bottle habitually. “I’ve kind of, uh, wanted to try some… kinkier stuff recently.”

“Like putting cucumbers up your-”

“Enough with cucumbers!”

Feliks grinned and snorted. “Sorry, go on?”

Toris coughed again. “I mean like… stuff involving ropes, or cuffs, and, uhm… a bit of pain?”

Feliks’s eyes were slightly wide, and he looked more serious.

“…I dunno about the pain stuff,” he mused. “But, like, I could tie you up sometime? Could be fun.”

Toris smiled, a little shyly. “Could be. And, uhm, I don’t know about ten, but, I can think of a couple people I wouldn’t mind joining us for a night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They shared almost bashful smiles, until Feliks abruptly flopped onto his back with a huff.

“I’m sleepy,” he announced to the ceiling.

“You’re not going to be comfortable sleeping there.”

“Liet?”

“Hmm?”

“Carry me?”

“I’m not carrying you upstairs.”

“I dare you to carry me!”

“You didn’t even ask truth or dare!”

“I double-dare you!”

“Feliks.”

“Triple-dog-dare!”

In the end, Toris carried him upstairs.


	12. Swing Dancing in Pajamas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on 2016-08-12. LietPol and AmeLiet fluff.

It wasn't unusual to hear the piano randomly start tinkling without warning. Poland tended to play when he was bored, keying out random, semi-melodic little ditties or sometimes just smacking the keys (when he was _especially_ bored). He could play very well, Lithuania knew that first-hand, but he didn't seem to bother to put in the effort unless performing for someone else.

So Lithuania was slightly surprised when he realized that the piano notes he was half-listening to that lazy weekend afternoon actually sounded like a song. Then, he realized he'd been unconsciously humming along to the jazzy tune, and that it was one he recognized quite well. He looked up towards the sound, surprised, and quickly put down his novel in favor of following it.

Poland seemed to be putting in the effort to play properly today, sitting upright with his hands moving gracefully and purposefully across the keys. He must have been focusing, because he didn't even stop to glance at Lithuania when he entered. Even though he was dressed in his lazy weekend clothes, old pajama pants and a borrowed sweatshirt that Lithuania had yet to get back and doubted he ever would, he was prim and poised, clearly putting his skills to work.

Lithuania leaned against the wall, waiting for Poland to finish. His foot started tapping, not out of impatience at all, but just because it was hard to sit still to that tune. A warm, nostalgic smile slowly lit up his face, as he remembered the first time he heard that song, nearly a century ago and thousands of miles away, crackling out of a phonograph in a living room full of late afternoon sunlight. He'd been offered a hand and a friendly grin, asked if he wanted to dance, and despite his nerves and uncertainty, he'd taken the hand and danced anyway.

He remembered how his heart felt light and warm as their fingers wove together, and how loud he laughed as he was spun and twirled around, and how he finally found a sense of peace here after such hardships for so long.

Lithuania wondered if Poland knew that was the song that made him realize he'd fallen in love with America.

The song reached its end, not quite so climactic without the orchestra behind it, but Poland played it well. Lithuania was still smiling when he spoke up.

"That was Gershwin, wasn't it?"

"Sure was," Poland said, spinning on his seat to face him. He was smiling, looking pleased with himself. "Not my usual stuff, sure, but eh, why not branch out a bit?"

"You played it wonderfully."

"Pfft, yeah, I know."

The pink glow on Poland's cheeks made it clear that he was actually incredibly flattered.

Lithuania's fond smile remained, his heart feeling light and warm as he stepped forward, dipping to kiss the crown of Poland's head.

"By the way," he mused. "Did I ever get around to teaching you how to dance to this music?"

"I don't think so." Poland smiled up at him. "You wanna show me now?"

Half an hour of swing dancing later left them tired and laughing on the living room couch, Poland half-sitting on Lithuania's lap where he'd fallen after a rather clumsy spin, and neither of them really that bothered about getting up again.

Gershwin was still playing out of Poland's phone, and Lithuania had his face buried against his neck, smiling wide and feeling him shake with laughter in his arms.

A few hours after that found him on his computer, retelling the day's events to a delighted looking America over a long-distance Skype call.

"I miss you like crazy when you're not here, hon," he beamed. "But honestly, hearing about you two being too adorable to be legal makes it easier to wait for you to come back."

"Oh, lemme help!" Poland chimed in, jumping up from the bed to tackle-hug Lithuania from behind, leaving exaggeratedly loud, wet kisses on his cheek.

Part of Lithuania wanted to be annoyed. Most of him was too busy laughing along with America and Poland, feeling warm and light and so wonderfully happy to have them both.


	13. Fussing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on 2016-01-04. Just some EstLiet fluff. Contains brief nondescript nudity.
> 
> Translations:  
> “Leedu” - “Lithuania” in Estonian  
> “Estija” - “Estonia” in Lithuanian

“Why are you still awake?”

Estonia peered over the top of his laptop screen with a bit of a smirk. “You of all people have no right to be lecturing me on working late.”

Lithuania did not look nearly so amused, standing there in his pajamas with his arms folded and brow furrowed.

“It’s cold tonight,” he insisted. “The bedroom’s warmer.”

“I’m quite alright,” Estonia replied casually, focusing back on his laptop, the screen casting an eerie white glow over his face in the dark kitchen.

Lithuania didn’t budge. “That can’t be good for your eyes.”

Estonia just smirked again. “My vision’s been terrible since the twelfth century, I doubt computer screens could have made it that much worse.”

When Lithuania neither replied nor left, Estonia looked up again. He was still standing there, arms still folded, expression still that certain mix of stern and worried that he wore so frequently he’d perfected it.

“What?”

“It’s been at least a week since you’ve been in bed before two in the morning.”

Back to the computer screen. “We don’t need sleep the same way humans do, Leedu.”

“But we still need it,” Lithuania insisted.

Estonia didn’t answer.

Lithuania sighed.

“Let me stay up with you, then.”

Glancing up, Estonia raised an eyebrow. “What, so I don’t get lonely in my own house?”

Lithuania shrugged. “I do, sometimes.”

Estonia’s eyes looked hollow in the stark light from his laptop, until he glanced back down with a smile and shook his head.

“Fine, if it’ll keep you from fussing.”

Lithuania sat next to him, not seeming to care much about what was on his screen. While Estonia scrolled through the series of documents, he jumped slightly when Lithuania abruptly grabbed his free hand and held it in both his own.

“Don’t mind me,” he said softly in response to Estonia’s questioning look.

Estonia looked back at his laptop and kept reading, pretending his eyelids weren’t feeling so heavy.

Lithuania’s hands felt warm.

“You’ve been biting your nails again.”

“It’s not an easy habit to break,” Estonia replied.

“I know.”

Lithuania was quiet for a moment, stroking his thumb across Estonia’s knuckles.

“You do have lovely hands, you know.”

“But they’d be nicer if I didn’t chew my nails, right?”

“No, they’re lovely regardless. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything like that.”

“You didn’t. I was just teasing.”

Lithuania hummed softly, and kissed his knuckles.

Estonia’s face felt warm.

“I just realized I haven’t heard you play piano in ages,” Lithuania mused, tracing the silver ring on Estonia’s finger.

“I’m out of practice,” Estonia said. “It probably wouldn’t sound any good.”

“You never know. It could just take you a few minutes to get back into it.”

“Hmm.”

Estonia realized he’d stopped reading the text on his screen. He was finding it hard to want to start reading again.

Lithuania yawned, and he grinned to himself.

“Leedu, go get some sleep, alright? Go back to bed.”

“Only if you come with me.”

Estonia actually laughed. “You’ve been hanging out with Poland too much. You’re getting sassy.”

“And you’re not getting enough sleep,” Lithuania replied stubbornly. "Come to bed, Estija.“

"The way you act, sometimes I think you might as well be my older brother. You worry enough, at least.”

“Would that be so bad if I were?”

“Probably not, no.”

“Come get some sleep, please.”

“I thought you were going to stop fussing over me?”

“I never agreed to that. Come on, bed.”

He actually tugged on Estonia’s hand this time.

“You’re getting bossy, too.”

“Bed.”

“I’m not…”

Whatever he had say was cut off by a sudden yawn. When he opened his eyes again, Lithuania looked a little smug.

“Fine. I’ll come to bed.”

The reading was nearly putting him to sleep, anyways.

He stood up, closed his laptop, and let himself get pulled upstairs.

“You’re not going to tuck me in, are you?”

“I will of you want me to.”

“I don’t.”

Lithuania laughed, and paused in the doorway to kiss the corner of Estonia’s mouth before letting go of his hand.

Estonia’s didn’t bother with modesty while changing. Lithuania had already seen everything long ago, so there wasn’t much point.

If there was one thing the two had in common, it was their shared love of warm pajamas, cozy and comfortable for cold nights, a small but substantial luxury they’d had to go several years without.

Estonia was doing up his buttons when Lithuania came over, gently taking off his glasses with a smile.

“These wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep in.”

“Probably not, no.”

He flinched slightly when Lithuania leaned in and kissed him on the nose.

“You’re very affectionate, tonight.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m taking pretty good care of myself.”

“I know. It’s a hard habit to break, though.”

He sighed, and an old clock downstairs chimed midnight.

Estonia took his hand. “Come on, weren’t we going to bed?”

There was something in Lithuania’s eyes when he looked at him, something old and sad and very tired. Estonia couldn’t blame him for worrying, not when he was sure he must have had the same look in his eyes sometimes.

But then Lithuania blinked and it was gone though, at least for the moment, and he smiled.

“Right. Bed.”

The sheets were still warm from when Lithuania was waiting in them a few minutes ago, and Estonia realized how heavy he felt once he was laying among them. He rolled onto his left side, the one he always slept on, and couldn’t really help but smile when Lithuania’s arm draped across his waist and held him, loosely but comfortably.

Lithuania kissed the back of his neck, and this time Estonia turned, pressing his lips to Lithuania’s before he pulled away. He saw him smile before he turned to face forward again.

“Good night,” he said softly.

“Good night. Sweet dreams.”

“You too.”

The bed was wonderfully warm and cozy that night.


	14. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poketalia drabble, featuring rival!Latvia. First-person POV.

You wince internally as you give the final command, and the last blow is struck. You watch his last chance at victory faint with an exhausted cry as he recalls it, his face down and expression unreadable.

You call back your own, the battle finished. Florges, Ledien, Meowstic, Gallade, Musharna, and Lilligant; you’ve beaten all of them, his entire team. It wasn’t easy, and some of your own fainted in the process, but you did it.

He hasn’t said anything yet, nor has he looked at you. You remember that boy next door, the one who tried his best to keep up with you but never quite managed it. You remember your mother lecturing you, telling you to go easy on poor little Raivis, let him win against you so he wouldn’t be so upset. You remember, in a small battle years before you left town, calling out ineffective moves again and again, waiting as patiently as you could for his little Espurr to beat you. You remember that, when he finally won, he looked more upset than ever, and he left without a word.

It’s years later now, and you’re both standing on the last stretch of Victory Road. Moments ago, he was standing in your way, but now he has to retreat. Still, though, he hasn’t moved, and you’re starting to wonder of your mother was right. Maybe you should have let him win this one, too.

Until he looks up at you. His eyes are shining, and you worry he may cry, but he’s smiling.

“…Thank you,” he says, shoulders slumping with what looks more like relief than defeat. “Really. Thank you so much.”

You wonder for a moment why he’d be so grateful if he has to start over again.

“Thank you for not holding back,” he continues. “Thank you for taking me seriously as a rival.”

He sighs again, and you hear his voice shake a little, but he’s still smiling. You think you’re starting to understand.

“Everyone back home… I know they were only trying to make me feel better, but… well, you can tell when someone doesn’t actually believe you can beat them, you know?”

His smile looks a little sad as he keeps talking.

“I know I only won those battles because they lost on purpose. I know they didn’t really believe in me, but they didn’t want to hurt my feelings, so they held back. But you…”

His expression brightens again, filling with admiration.

“You’ve never held back. Not since we both started this journey have you ever pitied me. You’ve taken me seriously ever since we left home.”

He’s beaming now, his eyes shimmering, and you’re less worried that he’s going to start crying now.

“I lost because I wasn’t strong enough to beat you, and while I’m disappointed about that, I’m also happy that you thought enough of me to fight me with your full potential. You… you respected me, more than anyone who let me win out of pity ever did.”

He steps forward, offering his hand. You’re smiling too now as you grasp it. You’re proud of him, proud of that shy little neighbor boy and his shy little Espurr, who’s now standing tall and triumphant before you.

“I know I won’t be Champion any time soon, but that’s okay,” he says. “We can keep training, and we can keep getting stronger. And, I know you and your team are already strong enough to win this. I know you can be the new Champion.”

He lets go and walks past you, head high and shoulders squared. You turn after him, and he pauses before leaving the cavern.

He’s still smiling when he faces you again.

“I’ll be back to challenge you again someday. Promise me you won’t hold back then, either.”

You promise.


	15. Velvet Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on 2013-01-01. Fill for a kink meme request asking for America or England nuzzling Canada's pubic hair post-blowjob, filled with UKCan. Warnings: NSFW, drunk sex.

In the back of his mind, Canada felt a little bit guilty for taking advantage of the situation. He really shouldn't have been though, since England was the one to offer. Besides, England wasn't all that drunk, just buzzed enough to lose the stiff, conservative exterior he had on at all other times.

And, really, how could Canada have resisted, what with the lovely pink flush on England's cheeks and the way his deep green eyes were glowing with warmth and arousal. On top of all that, he had called Canada _by his name_ , not "Alfred" or "lad" or "err… you with the beavers."

He had said, clear as day, in the middle of the bar, "Let me blow you, Matthew."

And now here they were, back in Canada's hotel room, the younger nation laying sideways across the bed where England had pushed him down, fingers tangled in the bed sheets and mouth open wide in a silent scream while the elder, kneeling beside the bed between his legs, licked a long stripe from the base of his cock to the head before wrapping his lips around the tip and just _sucking_ for a good long minute. At this point, Canada didn't even care that, aside from his unzipped fly, they were both still fully dressed in suits and ties. If he was going to be honest, it really just made the whole ordeal sexier.

Canada whined, thrusting his hips up, trying to push himself in deeper. To his surprise, England relented, opening his mouth wider and swallowing the cock almost greedily, humming in the back of his throat.

"Aa-! God, Arthur!" Canada moaned, writhing on the sheets. Fuck, his throat was so wet, so hot…

England groaned in response and lifted his head to only the tip remained in his mouth, then lowered his mouth back down, down, until his lips were wrapped round the base. He repeated the motion, rolling his tongue against the hot organ in his mouth.

The younger nation almost lost it right then and there. He managed to untangle one hand from the sheets, only to fist in the elder's hair, watching as if hypnotized as again and again England fucked his mouth onto Canada's cock, the flush on his cheeks darker now, his eyes half-lidded, eyebrows furrowed in apparent concentration as his head bobbed up and down.

Canada's other hand was soon tangled in that thatch of straw-blond hair as well, and he was sitting upright, curled over the form of his former guardian, panting "Arthur, Arthur," desperately, over and over again.

He came hard, spilling his seed on England's tongue as he cried out in primal pleasure and white light exploded behind his eyes. He slumped over the side of the bed, practically falling on the body kneeled before him, and could only breathe heavily as England wrapped an arm around his waist and maneuvered him so that he was lying back on the bed.

For now, Canada was content to stay there, catch his breath, and let his brain float back into his skull, but England's fidgeting at the edge of the bed caught his attention. His glasses were fogged up pretty badly so he couldn't quite see, but he was pretty sure the older nation mouthing at his limp cock.

"Again?" he asked breathlessly. "Arthur, I'm exhausted."

"What?" The Englishman glanced up, looking puzzled, then he seemed to realize something. "Oh, no, not that again so soon."

And he went right back to nuzzling the little spot not covered by Canada's slacks without another word.

"Then… What are you doing?" the younger nation asked, a little apprehensive.

England gave a short, small laugh and started rubbing his cheek against the light golden curls nestled around Canada's cock. "I'm sorry, lad, but… it's just so soft…"

...

Okay, so maybe England was a little more drunk that Canada had first anticipated…


	16. Tally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on 2015-04-16. AmeLiet and LietPol polyshipping fluff.

It still feels weird, sharing Liet with someone else, but he’s getting used to it. Slowly.

Half of the time, it’s really not that different to how things were before. Well, no, it is different, because they’re not married now, Liet’s speaking mostly his own language these days, and Poland makes the effort to spend as much time in Vilnius as Liet does in Warsaw. But, for long stretches of time, it’s the two of them, visiting each others’ houses and spending a few weeks at a time, and they kiss and hug and cuddle and bicker and make love like they always did, and it feels like it’s just them.

Except when, at odd hours, Liet gets a phone call or text that makes him smile widely and Poland has to hear him say “I love you,” to someone else. That’s totally new.

Then, there’s the other half of the time, when Liet travels over 4,000 miles to be with the one he loves. The other one he loves.

Poland always bids him goodbye at the airport, with hugs and kisses and a silent plea of “don’t forget about me, okay?”

And Liet hasn’t, so far. At least once a day, they exchange texts or photos or emails, and they call each other when their schedules line up. He loves those little moments, chatting away with spoken or typed words, and he’s always happy to hear Liet end the conversations with "I love you.”

It’s not as hard as he’d expected. He used to be so jealous of how Liet would answer texts from America in the middle of the night, with that adoring smile on his face, until he realized that was exactly the same thing he was doing for him. And then he realized that little rush of joy he got whenever he heard back from Liet was probably the same thing America felt too. That was something they had in common, at least.

It’s getting easier not to be dumb and jealous now than it was when it started. Now that it’s been a few years and Poland can see that, just because Liet leaves for a little while doesn’t mean he won’t come back. Just because he’s fallen in love with someone else, doesn’t mean he’s stopped loving Poland.

It’s even stopped annoying him when America sidles into one of their video chats and smooches Liet right in front of him. He still pouts, although playfully. “I’m so keeping a tally of kisses you owe me when you get home,” he says, and Liet laughs, and promises he’ll make up for every one.

“Here, I’ll throw you some extras,” America says one time, then dives on Liet and leaves kisses all up and down his neck until he’s red-faced and squirming with laughter.

That’s the point when Poland really starts to feel like this is okay, because he laughs too, loud and honest. Because Liet looks so light and happy like that, because he looks at America with such glowing adoration once he’s shoved the blond off of him.

Because Liet’s expression doesn’t change a bit when he looks back at Poland.

It’s a couple more months before Liet comes back to Europe. Poland picks him up at the airport with a hug and a kiss. Liet’s tired and jet-lagged but smiling, and Poland offers to stay the night and help him unpack tomorrow.

They make dinner together, hip-to-hip in Liet’s small kitchen, working with familiar old recipes they both love. They leave a dish to finish in the oven, and Liet leans against the counter, muffling a yawn.

“You could just go to bed,” Poland says, but Liet shakes his head.

“I’m going to try to get back on a regular…” Another yawn. “Mm, sleep schedule,” he says. “So I’m staying up until nighttime.”

Poland leans against the counter next to him. “Just don’t fall asleep in your food alright?”

Liet snickers. “I’ll do my best.”

They’re quiet for a moment, watching the oven timer count down.

Then Liet laughs again, quietly.

Poland looks over. “What’s up?”

“I just remembered,” Liet smiles. When he looks at Poland, his eyes are bright with mischief not often seen there. “I owe you something.”

It takes Poland a moment to realize what he’s talking about. By then, it’s too late, because Liet has already dived on him and started assaulting his neck with kisses and Poland is shrieking with laughter.


	17. do me a favor?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on 2015-02-15 for LietPolWeek on tumblr. Part of a larger superhero AU.

"Uuuggghh. Why does patrol have to be so _boring?"_

Toris glanced over his shoulder, sending a slightly chastising look at his partner floating a few feet behind him. "You know this isn't just about fighting crime when it happens, we have be vigilant and do what we can to stop violence before people get hurt."

"Yeah, yeah," Feliks said flippantly, staring up at the sky with a blank expression. "I know, great power and great responsibility and all that, I just don't get why _we're_ getting all the boring look-out jobs lately."

Toris shook his head, looking back out over the edge of the building whose roof they stood upon. "Well, with Arthur in Avalon right now, you're the only one around who can fly, and the best vantage for this would be a bird's eye view, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Feliks mumbled, rolling over in midair while playing absentmindedly with his hair. "So then why do you always tag along?"

"Well, for one thing, we still haven't built a communicator you could use-"

"Don't remind me," Feliks groused, thinking back on all the ones he'd accidentally melted as soon as they'd made contact with his skin. Toris was so lucky, he could turn his powers off...

"-So you need someone around who has one," Toris continued, ignoring the interruption. "And, well, we can spend time together at least, right?"

Feliks looked up, ready to say something sarcastic about how his friend was getting mushy on him, but paused when he realized how pink Toris's face had turned.

Toris was still looking at him when his expression became slightly anxious, and then he turned away, looking back out over the city.

Feliks floated closer, suddenly quite curious. "Toris?"

He could see the other man's face in semi-profile from here, and he looked tense and flustered, avoiding his eyes. "I, uhm..." he stuttered, and started again. “Feliks, I-"

And he was interrupted again by a small, rapid beeping from his wrist communicator, signaling an incoming call.

"Oh!" Toris jumped, startled, and began clumsily working the communicator: "I-I'm sorry, hang on!"

Feliks snickered to himself, smirking.

Still red-faced, Toris answered the signal. "Hello?"

"Hey, dude, I need some eyes in the sky uptown," Alfred's voice said. "Think you can send Feliks over?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll let him know," Toris said quickly, very aware of the steady warmth still hovering behind him.

"Thanks man, Gunslinger out."

"You get that?" Toris asked, glancing back.

"Yep, you got his coordinates?"

"Right here," Toris said, bringing up the holo-map on his communicator, a little light blinking where Alfred was located. Feliks leaned over his shoulder, careful not to touch him, and Toris's face flushed red in a way that had nothing to do with the heat hovering right by his ear.

"Got it, I'll head over there," Feliks said, thankfully drifting back. Toris let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Could you just, like, do me a quick favor before I go?"

Toris blinked, and turned to face him. "What's that?"

He felt rather nervous when he saw his friend hovering there, a mischievous smirk on his face. He was very worried now that he'd implied to much earlier, and it was going to become Feliks's new favorite way to pick on him.

"Could you iron up for just a sec?" Feliks asked, smiling coyly, practically batting his eyes.

"Uhm. Alright."

Though Feliks being cheeky rarely ended well for him, Toris allowed himself to change, his skin cooling as it shifted from flesh to metal, wondering just what on Earth his friend had in store for him. He really hoped he wasn't going to try and burn his clothes off again...

Metal from head to toe, he sighed and asked "Now what did you wan-MMPH?!"

Feliks swooped down and Toris let out a muffled squeak of surprise when he quickly, firmly, pressed their lips together. Eyes wide, Toris watched him pull back, floating there for a moment with a huge, smug grin, before twisting in the air and flying up higher. He turned back to Toris with a wave, calling "See ya!" with a wink, and then shot across the sky, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

Stunned and speechless, Toris stood dumbfounded on the roof, staring after his friend. Friend? Was that even the right word anymore?

Tentatively, he lifted a hand to his face and touched his cool, metal lips. Even though he could not physically feel anything while he was like this, inside he felt incredibly warm. In a very, very good way.

His communicator beeped.

"Hey, is Feliks on his-"

"YES."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kind of ties in with "Burnout," but I've expanded on this AU a lot my head a lot since writing that, so I don't know if they'll ever actually sync up, or just stay their own thing.
> 
> Quick notes on Toris and Feliks's powers and such:
> 
> Toris is Iron Wolf, born with a mutation that lets him turn his skin into a nearly indestructible bio-metal. Basically Colossus from X-Men.
> 
> Feliks is Solar Flare, an engineered meta-human whose body is made of pure energy (think Captain Atom but without the protective suit), and while he can control the amount a energy he gives off, he can't turn it off, so he's always radiating light and heat.
> 
> And even though they played pretty minor parts, Arthur is Pendragon, a sorcerer and student of Merlin, and Alfred is Gunslinger, a non-powered vigilante with a cowboy motif.


	18. Hey, You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on 2016-12-17. Based off the papa!Liet AU by saucybroswithbenefits on tumblr, more stuff here:  
> http://saucybroswithbenefits.tumblr.com/tagged/papaliet-AU
> 
> Notes: Felicija = nyo!Poland. Also, Toris and Felicija aren’t a couple in this fic, but childhood friends. Toris wanted a kid but couldn’t see himself getting together with anyone anytime soon, so Felicija was his surrogate.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of hospitals, birth, and pregnancy.

Out beyond the white walls and closed door, he can hear the muffled bustle of rapid footsteps and squeaking gurney wheels, the rush of everyday hospital life, the world moving on outside without him.

Toris doesn't really care about that, though. Right now, his whole world is cradled delicately in his arms, wrapped snugly in a fluffy white blanket and sleeping soundly, so small Toris is almost afraid he might break him by holding him wrong.

Toris cried when he first saw his face, he's not ashamed to admit it. He was filthy, screaming, and flailing his little arms clumsily, but Toris held him close and kissed his forehead, wiped his face clean and beamed through his tears at his newborn son.

His son.

He feels like he might start crying again just thinking about it.

Gently, careful not to disturb the sleeping boy, he wipes the corner of his eye and sniffs quietly. His throat feels thick, and his hands a little shaky, but he doesn't want to disturb Felicija.

...God, he look _so_ much like his mother.

Felicija is asleep too, unsurprising after everything she's been through that day. Everything she's accomplished. She can sleep for a week straight as far as Toris is concerned, and he wouldn't mind a bit. She's earned the rest, after the last few hours. After the last few months.

How on Earth can he ever thank her for this? It feels like nothing could ever properly express how grateful he is.

The boy still needs a name...

"Hey, you."

He looks up, and finds Felicjia smiling blearily at him. She still looks tired, but her eyes are bright as they glance at the bundle in his arms.

"Hey, lemme hold him again?"

"You got to hold him for the last nine months," Toris jests. "Let me have a turn."

Felicija scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Get your butt over here."

Toris smiles and doesn't object, standing slowly and pulling his chair over to the cot, keeping his son held carefully against his chest while Felicija sits up stiffly.

"Here, and make sure you're supporting his head..."

"I'm totally supporting his head, Toris."

He feels silly about how scared it makes him, passing his son off to someone else, especially when it's the boy's own mother and his best friend at that. He wonders briefly if it's always going to feel that terrifying, and it makes his head spin a bit.

"How are you doing?" he asks as he sits back down, leaning so he can keep a close eye on the boy as Felicija settles back on the bed.

"Sore," she grumbles. "Tired. Y'know, bleh."

"Do you think it was worth it?"

She smiles wide. "Totally. I mean, look at this little guy."

Toris has done little else but look at him for the past few hours.

"Yeah... he's... God, he's perfect."

Felicija snorts. "Don't say stuff like that. If he takes after me at all, it'll go straight to his head."

"I'll worry about not spoiling him later," Toris chuckles, reaching out to trace his fingers over the fine blond tufts of hair on the boy's head. He can imagine how it will look when he's older, pale and almost perfectly straight, just like his mother's. He wonders if he will let it grow out or want to keep it cut short. Maybe he'll want to dye it.

Toris realizes he may one day have to deal with his son wanting neon-colored hair, and he's not sure how to feel about that.

_...oh God, what if he wants a tattoo?_

He decides to worry about that later too.

"Have you thought anymore about names yet?" Felicija asks.

Toris is quiet for a moment.

He's thought about it for a while, and seeing the boy sleeping in Felicija's arms, he realizes there's no better name for him.

"Feliks."

Felicija looks surprised. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," Toris says. His tone is firm, but his voice is still low, quiet enough not to disturb the boy. "He's Feliks. There's no doubt about it."

Felicija blinks, and laughs quietly. She seems a little stunned. "I, well... I dunno what I did to deserve this but, thanks."

"What you did?" Toris nearly laughs out loud. "Felicija, you - you gave me my _child!_ He wouldn't be here without you!" He holds her arm gently and can feel himself tearing up again as he beams at her. "I don't think I can even begin to express how thankful I am for that. You _deserve_ to have him named after you."

She concedes with a tired smile. "Alright, alright, can the waterworks, will you? You're gonna make me cry again."

"Sorry," he chuckles with a sniffle.

He smiles down at his son, at Feliks, just as the boy starts to stir.

"Here, take him back," Felicija says bluntly. "I am so not in a place to deal with him if he starts crying right now."

Toris laughs and picks him up gladly, tucking the blanket aside so he can clearly see those pale green eyes when they blink open to stare up at him.

"Hello, Feliks," he says softly. "Did you sleep well?"

The boy blinks and then whines, squirming in his blanket with a frown.

"I guess that's a 'no'," Felicija pipes up, smirking tiredly as Toris scrambles to hold onto the wriggling bundle. "Good luck, I can already tell he's gonna be a handful."

"I don't care," Toris says, smiling despite himself as he tucks Feliks closer to his chest, rubbing his shoulders through the blanket. "He's _my_ handful."  



	19. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something that's been sitting on my phone for literally years. Kind of an introspective little drabble on the lives of nations. Could be AmeLiet if you squint.

"What do you think you'd do if you were human?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean if you weren't Lithuania," America explained, eyes on the horizon and arms folded behind his head. "If you were just a regular guy and you didn't have to deal with all this nation business. What do you think you'd do?"

Lithuania looked at America for a moment, lounged back in his deck chair and staring off somewhere else, before taking his own seat and following America's gaze.

"It's not something I've thought about much," he admitted, watching the clouds turn pink and orange in the distance.

"Too much to think about already?" America asked with a bit of a smirk.

"Basically, yes."

The low sun was casting long shadows over the flat landscape, turning short, shrubby bushes into tall, spindly lines that reached across the dirt to the porch. 

"I think I'd like to have children," Lithuania said. "Or work with them somehow."

"Yeah, you seem like you'd make a really good dad," America added. "Or a teacher, maybe."

Lithuania liked to think so, too. He'd done an alright job with Estonia and Latvia, hadn't he? Well, a lot had happened to the three of them beyond his control but still...

"What about you?" he asked. "Would you have children?"

"Me? Nah, I don't think so," America said. "I love kids, don't get me wrong, I just don't think I could settle down properly to raise 'em."

"You'd travel a lot then?"

"Maybe. I don't know." 

America shifted in his chair, pulling himself more upright and crossing his arms. 

"Maybe it's just 'cause I'm used to my bosses sending me all over the place, but I can't really see myself staying in one spot for too long. I'd get too antsy, I think."

Lithuania nodded. Yes, he could picture that.

"I bet you'd prefer to settle down somewhere, though," America continued. "I could see you in a cottage out in the country somewhere with a cute wife and a couple of kids."

"It is a nice idea," Lithuania mused with a smile. "It sounds peaceful."

"I'd probably join a band," America continued. "Or become a pilot. I don't know, something that'd let me travel a lot. See the world."

"You've already seen a lot of it," Lithuania added.

"Yeah, but always on business or to fight a war. I've never really gotten a chance to just be a tourist or whatever."

Lithuania looked away from the sun setting over America's dry, southern landscape, to look over at America the man instead. The red-orange sun reflected sharply off his glasses and turned his face bronze. 

"Come to Vilnius some time," Lithuania said. "I'll show you around myself."

America looked back at him and smiled, bright and vibrant in the evening sun. 

"That sounds fun. I'd love to come and visit."

"Let me know when you get some time off, then."

"Will do."

The sun touched the horizon. 

The United States of America and the Republic of Lithuania whirled on in a flurry of politics and people. 

Alfred F. Jones and Toris Laurinaitis watched the sun set.


	20. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some purple prose involving Lithuania and kissing with multiple ships - LietPol, EstLiet, AmeLiet, and LietLat.

Feliks kisses like a butterfly; soft and fleeting, but even with the barest brush of his lips, Toris can feel him smile. When Toris hums softly, enjoying the intimacy, the affection, he can feel Feliks’s mouth pull up at the corners, tilting into that slightly smug smirk he wears when he knows he’s made Toris feel good. His kisses are quick – one on the lips and then one-two on his cheek – a gentle brush of pressure against his skin, like a flitting moth’s wings; like Feliks’s eyelashes when he’s pretending to be coy.

Eduard is a practical man, and so are his kisses. Straightforward, a quick and firm press of his lips to Toris’s cheek or mouth; convey his affection and get the message across. He’s not cold about it, hardly – even when his hands are chilled his smile is warm – he just isn’t naturally physically intimate. He can be, though, when Toris doesn’t want to be straightforward; when he gently cups Eduard’s face in his hands and holds him there, and Eduard sighs softly, happily, and his clever fingers dance up Toris’s back.

Sometimes, Alfred kisses him like he’s starving, like the slide of their lips together and the short, sharp sting of a quick bite are all he needs and wants in life. He’ll hold Toris close, a hungry noise rumbling in his chest – but he’s not just greedy; he’s very generous too, taking any chance to brush his lips against Toris’s knuckles, his forehead, the shell of his ear, the bridge of his nose. He talks too, in the middle of kisses, mumbling sweet nothings and it makes it clumsy but it also makes Toris smile. 

Raivis loves to kiss and be kissed. When Toris feels his thin fingers reach up and wind through his hair he knows exactly what he’s being asked; he’s more than happy – delighted even – to dip his head and gently, softly, press their lips together. They linger in a soft, quiet moment; Toris rubs his thumbs against Raivis’s cheeks and Raivis makes a small, happy noise in the back of his throat, like he’s suppressing a laugh. Kisses make him smile and his eyes shine, so Toris tries to kiss him whenever he can.


	21. A Difficult Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for AmeLietWeek on tumblr. Kind of bittersweet.

They both must have known.

In the backs of their minds, through the four years they spent together, holding hands as they walked across campus, laying among piles of papers and textbooks when they crammed for finals, and sharing brightly colored shaved ice in the summer breaks, they both knew it had to end.

Because Alfred was heart-set on staying in Chicago, and Toris was heart-set on going back to Kaunas.

And as much as both secretly hoped the other would change his mind, neither ever did.

Their caps and gowns were sitting on Alfred’s desk, still wrapped in plastic. They were supposed to be studying, finals were just a few weeks away, but neither of them could focus. 

They’d been distracted from study before, when Alfred got bored and started playing with Toris’s hair, or Toris decided to start leaving butterfly kisses on Alfred’s neck.

But now, they didn’t touch or kiss or cuddle. Now, they both sat on the edge of Alfred’s bed, locked in a tense silence. Alfred stared out the window with his hands clasped between his knees, and Toris looked down at the floor with his fingers curled in the bed sheets.

He was the one who figured out what to say first.

“I’m going to miss you,” he murmured. “A lot.”

Alfred took a deep breath and blew it out of his mouth. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“We had some great times though, didn’t we?”

Toris was smiling when Alfred looked over at him. It was a sad smile, but gentle and filled with affectionate nostalgia.

Alfred managed to smile too. “Yeah. Yeah, this was awesome.”

Sighing softly, Toris leaned against his shoulder, wrapping a hand around Alfred’s and stroking his knuckles.

“Listen,” he said quietly. “Don’t try to be noble by waiting for me, alright? If you meet someone else then… then do what makes you happy, okay?”

In a way, it hurt to hear him say that. In a way, it was also reassuring.

“Only if you do the same,” Alfred mumbled, turning to kiss Toris’s hair, threading their fingers together.

Toris swallowed. “Do you think… would it be awkward if we stayed in touch?”

“Maybe,” Alfred mused. “I dunno. But, I want to try to stay friends.”

“So do I.”

A bird flew past the window outside, and they could hear the muffled voices of other students chatting in the hall.

“Is this goodbye?”

Toris slipped his hand from Alfred’s and wrapped an arm around his shoulder instead, hugging him tightly.

“No, not yet. As long as I’m still here, I want to spend that time with you.”

Alfred turned and held him back, rubbing a thumb along the edge of his shoulder blade.

“When it’s time, would you come with me to the airport?”

“Of course I will.”

Toris sighed again, then turned his head and kissed him. It wasn’t their last kiss, but they both knew they didn’t have many more left.

So they made them count.


	22. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some CanLat fluff written on a six hour drive. Warnings for nondescript nudity, naked kissing, sort-of underage (as in Raivis is hundreds of years old and mature enough to consent, but still looks young)

If he was being honest, Raivis was a little disappointed he wasn't visiting in the fall. He'd have loved to watch all those vibrant red leaves spinning through the crisp sunlight, the chilly breeze blowing through his hair.

But, he couldn't really bring himself to complain. Canada was still beautiful in the summer.

And so was Matthew.

It had rained the night before, leaving the ground wet and the air thick with humidity, but neither of them were going to let that ruin the day. They’d come out to Matthew’s cabin for daily hikes, and they were going to stick to that plan. Even if it meant coming back covered in sweat, mud, sunscreen, and bug spray, the walk in the woods was still wonderful.

“Go ahead and take the shower first if you want,” Matthew said, swiping his sticky hair out of his face. His cheeks were flushed from the heat and the sun had brought his freckles out stronger than ever. Raivis thought he looked adorable, especially when Matthew smiled down at him.

“We could share,” he blurted without really thinking.

He regretted it for a second, but Matthew kept smiling.

“Sure.”

Warm water streamed through his hair, over his face, and down his shoulders, and Raivis hummed happily, feeling the grime slip off of him. Matthew stepped in behind him and shut the glass door. The stall was small, and they had to stand fairly close together.

Raivis didn’t mind one bit.

“Want me to get your hair?”

Raivis mumbled lazily, too busy enjoying the water streaming over his closed eyes.

Matthew laughed behind him. “I can’t shampoo your hair if you’re standing right under the shower, you know.”

“Oh, alright,” Raivis conceded, taking a step backwards. His shoulders and Matthew’s chest brushed.

Raivis decided he liked the smell of Matthew’s shampoo; floral but subtle, kind of tropical. He kept his eyes shut as Matthew’s fingers wove into his curly hair, gentle and thorough as he worked the shampoo into a lather, short nails scratching pleasantly at Raivis’s scalp.

“That’s better,” Raivis sighed, tipping his head back under the spray and letting the suds rinse out. “I felt like I had a bird nest on my head.”

Matthew laughed, a sweet smile on his face as Raivis turned around. “I know what you mean,” he added with a chuckle, and passed Raivis the shampoo. “Can you do me?”

“If I can reach,” Raivis muttered self-deprecatingly. As much as he liked Matthew, it still bugged him that someone less than half his age was almost a full foot taller than him.

“Here.” Matthew bent slightly, almost nose to nose with Raivis, still smiling sweetly. “How’s this?”

“This’ll work,” Raivis replied softly. His face felt warm, and it had nothing to do with the long hike in the sun, nor the hot stream of water. 

Matthew closed his eyes, expression soft and patient, and Raivis scrubbed the shampoo into his long hair. He studied Matthew’s face as he worked; his round nose, his blond eyelashes, his multitude of freckles dashed across his cheeks. Raivis wanted to kiss them.

So he did, leaning forward and gently pressing his lips to Matthew’s cheek, just under his eye, for less than half a second. He turned, aiming for the bridge of his nose, but found Matthew’s mouth there instead, kissing him back and making Raivis let out a muffled, slightly startled laugh.

He stepped back, keeping his fingers in Matthew’s hair and their mouths pressed gently together, letting the shower rinse away the remaining shampoo as his hands traced down the back of Matthew’s neck, following the running stream of water across his shoulders and down to his chest. Matthew’s hands rose against the water, starting with the lightest touch of his fingers at his waist, his palms running up Raivis’s sides and around to his back, tickling him and making him giggle against Matthew’s lips.

He opened his eyes as they parted, Matthew touching their foreheads together, still smiling soft and sweet, eyes shining.

Raivis sighed happily.

“Thanks for inviting me out here,” he said softly, leaning up and kissing the corner of Matthew’s mouth.

He felt Matthew’s smile widen, giggling softly when he turned and kissed Raivis’s cheek. “Thanks for coming.”


	23. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another old drabble I found on my phone. Contains scars and angst with a happy ending.

It's rare for Alfred to wake up first. He'll sleep in as long as he can most days, setting his alarm as late as he can get away with.

He thinks it's the birds outside that wake him up. It's summer, it gets light out early, and the morning chorus is in full swing before even Toris usually wakes up.

Alfred opens his eyes. The sun is still rising, and red light filters into the bedroom. Toris is laying beside him, on his side, facing away from Alfred. It was warm last night. He slept without a shirt on. The covers have slipped down to his hip.

The morning light falls across the pale, mangled skin of his back.

Alfred has known those scars were there for a long, long time. Seeing them first thing in the morning still feels like a punch to the gut.

He's tried so hard. He's opened his home and his heart to Toris. He's treated him to dinners and movies and flowers and everything a good boyfriend should. He's helped him patch things up with his other friends, helped get him back on his feet. He's listened to every worry and fear that comes out of his mouth and offered his support and comfort. He's hugged him and kissed him and loved him with every ounce of his mind, body, and soul.

It's not enough.

Toris still has nightmares. Toris still becomes anxious over the tiniest things. Toris still has days when he bursts into tears at the drop of a hat and cries into Alfred's chest murmuring "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm sorry."

Those scars are still there.

He's tried so hard, and they're still there.

Toris stirs. He mumbles softly and lifts his head, looking over his shoulder. He blinks in the bright morning light.

He sees Alfred. He smiles.

Toris rolls over and flops right against Alfred's chest, curling in and slinging an arm across his waist. He drops a sleepy kiss to Alfred's collar bone and nuzzles closer, eyes closed.

"I'm going to lie in today," he mumbles vaguely. 

He goes back to sleep. He's still smiling slightly.

Alfred blinks. He loops an arm around Toris and gently pulls him closer. He watches his face for a while, just holding him. The corner of Toris's lip twitches once or twice. He must be having a nice dream.

Alfred peers over his shoulder.

The scars are still there.

They don't look nearly as bad now that they're not soaked in red light from the sunrise.

Alfred smiles.

Lying in sounds nice.


	24. keep trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> casually vents my irl frustrations w/ personified landmasses lma o
> 
> AmeLiet-ish (could be taken as platonic or romantic)

“Hey.”

Toris looked up from the carpet to find Alfred standing there, a pint of ice cream in each hand and a sad smile on his face.

“Mint chip or peaches and cream?” he asked.

It took Toris a moment to register the question, his brain muddled with anxiety. He blinked, and found his voice, “Peach, please.”

Alfred handed him the pint, already with a spoon jammed in it, and took the spot beside him on the couch, digging into the mint chip.

Toris went back to staring, this time into his pint of ice cream rather than the carpet. All he could think about was coming home to his apartment, finding two excited and hopeful faces waiting for him, and watching them slip into misery when he gave the bad news.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Alfred said after a few moments of silence. “There’s always next time.”

“I know,” Toris sighed. “It’s getting harder and harder to keep trying, though. It feels pointless.”

Alfred looked over at him. In the two years since they’d graduated, Toris seemed like he’d aged by a decade, constantly sad and tired, stuck in a miserable job with the weight of raising his two younger brothers sitting heavy on his shoulders. 

“It’s like-” Toris continued, unprompted. “I feel like I’ll throw up if I even look at another application form. I’m sick of it. So sick of interviews that go nowhere, getting my hopes up only for there to be someone more qualified. Getting rejected again and again, disappointing Eduard and Raivis again and again-”

“Hey,” Alfred interrupted gently, resting a hand on his back, and Toris went quiet. “Eat your ice cream, dude.”

Toris blinked, his throat feeling thick, and pulled out the spoon with a shaky hand, slipping it into his mouth. It wasn't too sweet; slightly tart and creamy, the peach flavor allowed to shine through the sugar. Alfred had made a good choice.

He swallowed and quickly took another spoonful.

“I know it’s tough,” Alfred said. “And I know you feel like you’re at a dead end, but I know _you,_ dude. I know you’re stubborn, and you’re not gonna let this keep you down for long.”

Toris snorted into his ice cream. “Stubborn, huh?”

“In the best way,” Alfred beamed. “Tenacious, strong-willed, you’re a goddamned hero, man!”

“You’re exaggerating,” Toris mumbled, but couldn’t keep his mouth from twitching into a small smile.

“I so am not!” Alfred pressed. “D’you have any idea how much your brothers admire you? How much _I_ admire you? All the shit you’ve been through and you’re still _here,_ you’re still going after your happy end! D’you even understand how brave you are to do that?”

Toris faltered, shocked by such honesty. He shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth to give him time to think. He felt like he might start crying, and he wasn’t sure why anymore.

“And you’re sure as hell not going at it alone!” Alfred added, clapping him on the shoulder with a wide grin. “You know I’m here for you every step of the way, right?”

Toris turned to him, his bright eyes and big smile, full of confidence and hope. Perhaps naivety. 

Perhaps he really believed in Toris that much.

“...I know,” Toris smiled. “And thank you, so much, for that.”

Alfred was positively beaming. “You’ll get outta that hellhole of a job before you know it,” he said, and he sounded so sure of it. “Trust me.”

Toris was almost convinced too. He smiled, and his chest felt less heavy. “I sure do hope so.”

“I know so.”


	25. True Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just because i don't have the skills to make a hetalia/pokemon crossover fangame doesn't mean i can't write fics about it. anyway here's a little ditty about gym leader!france. also philip isn't meant to be an aph character, just a youngster like they have in the games

Parisia Town was a cozy but bustling little place, nestled in a clearing in the forest, and always filled with people and Pokémon, both local and visiting, popping in and out of the numerous flower shops and treating themselves to the legendary Parisian cuisine. Trainers who visited Parisia inevitably wound up at the Gym, an elegantly sculpted building made of glass and wrought iron, surrounded by colorful gardens full of exotic flowers and plants from around the globe. Wild Nidoran and Weedle were free to wonder these gardens as they pleased, and a lucky trainer may even come across a rare Venipede or even a Bulbasaur here. 

Despite the beauty of the gardens, signs were posted everywhere warning of the dangers the gorgeous flowers possessed. Each and every one was extremely toxic in one way or another, and trainers and non-Poison type Pokémon were sternly told not to touch or consume the plants. However, the gardens were not there as a deterrent; visiting trainers and their Pokémon were encouraged to roam the gardens, so long as they did so safely, and learn as much as they could about the fascinating world of flowers. Biologists from across the region came to study in the gardens, finding opportunities to research plants they may never have a chance to see first-hand, and a handful of significant medical discoveries had been made in these gardens. The locals even cooked the plants into special Poképuffs, a sweet and healthy treat for Poison types who could withstand the toxic ingredients. Though Steel type Pokémon could also eat the puffs without any adverse effect, the taste seemed entirely unappealing to them.

The lead caretaker of these gardens was one Francis Bonnefoy, the proud Poison type Gym Leader of Parisia Town with a unique passion for potentially deadly flora. On this sunny spring day, he was found tending to the gardens, kneeling in a patch of earth and digging a line of small holes for some new transplants. Beside him was his loyal Roserade, patting the earth gently around the small flowers with a smile on its face, proud to work alongside its trainer. Francis wondered excitedly how these new flowers would look once in bloom; he had just had them shipped from the Alola region and he couldn’t wait to share them with the rest of Parisia -

“Mr. Francis!!”

Francis winced at the noise, glancing at his Roserade as they shared a grimace. They both knew the voice well, and Francis rose to his feet with a groan, stretching out his back. He turned with a weak smile to the youngster running towards him. “‘Allo, Phillip, how can I -”

“Mr. Francis, you’ve gotta trade with me!” the boy demanded, sprinting through a bed of flowers and skidding to a stop at Francis’ feet, shoving a Dusk Ball in his face.

Taken aback, and slightly outraged at the trampled plants, he nonetheless kept his expression calm, knowing it was the least painful way out of this. Philip had a reputation around Parisia, a sour-faced child who seemed to be in a constant state of frustration and annoyance, somehow spoiled despite his parents doing their best to raise him well. He’d stormed into the Gym more than once, challenging Francis with Pokémon borrowed from his friends - more like handed over to him after he’d screamed and stamped his feet - and always lost, stomping out and yelling at his friends for giving him “weak Pokémon,” only to return again after harassing another child for their team instead.

In a way, Francis wanted to help the boy; he knew what it was like to be a bratty child, and hoped Philip could find the same sort of epiphany he had that helped him grow up. It hadn’t seemed to happen yet though, as Philip was still crushing his flowers under his sandals and scowling up at Francis, holding out the Dusk Ball impatiently.

“I don’t have any Pokémon I want to trade right now-” Francis explained carefully, but was cut off when Philip pointed behind him.

“I want that one!”

Francis turned to look at his Roserade, who was staring up at him with an expression of absolute dread and shaking its head rapidly. Francis frowned.

“Fantôme is _definitely_ not up for trade,” he said sternly, dropping his calm expression. “None of my Pokémon are, Philip, I’m sorry.”

“Then just take this stupid thing!” the boy yelled, shaking the Ball in Francis’ face. “I don’t care how I get rid of it, I hate it!”

Francis felt bad for the poor creature being rattled around inside the Ball. “‘Hate’ is a strong word, Philip-”

“Mom said she was gonna catch me a Pokémon last night!” Philip interrupted, glaring at the Ball as if he’d never seen anything more disgusting. “I told her to get the best one ever, and she got me _this!”_

He flung the ball at the ground, and it burst open with a flash of light and a rank stench, revealing a small, trembling green bag with a frightened face, its trash-covered arms held timidly over its mouth.

Francis’ eyebrows rose. “A Trubbish?”

“It’s stupid!” Philip yelled, stamping a foot and the Trubbish flinched, whimpering and shrinking at Francis’ feet. “It’s ugly and smelly and I hate it!”

“Now, Philip,” Francis said gently. “Your mother must have worked very hard to capture this for you, no? Trubbish are quite rare around Parisia, and if I recall correctly, she only has a Sunflora, so it must have been difficult to capture a Pokémon she had no type advantage against-”

“I don’t care!” the boy shouted back, making Francis grimace and the Trubbish tremble. “I want a _cool_ Pokémon, like your Salazzle or your Scolipede, not this ugly trash!”

“Ugly,” Francis huffed with a frown. “Philip, I think this little creature is far from ugly.” He bent down and gently lifted the Trubbish, smiling at it. It looked up at him with wide eyes, quivering. “I think it’s quite beautiful, in fact.”

Philip laughed, a harsh nasally sound. “You’re crazy.”

“I beg to differ,” Francis replied curtly. “This Pokémon, it grew from human waste and trash, yes?”

“So?”

“So, despite how much we have done to harm nature and Pokémon, however unintentionally,” Francis continued, beaming down at the little Trubbish, which was no longer shaking so terribly. “Life has sprung anew, adapted and learned to thrive in the harsher environments we have created. Is that in and of itself not beautiful?”

Philip didn’t reply, staring at the ground with a scowl.

“Look, I won’t make you keep it if you really don’t want it,” Francis conceded. _No doubt you would traumatize the poor thing if you did keep it,_ he thought to himself. 

“I don’t want it!” Philip interrupted before he could continue. “Take it, I don’t care!”

And with that, the boy turned and stormed back through the flowerbeds, sending a nest of Foongus scattering. Francis sighed heavily. “I feel for the boy’s mother, I really do…”

He was distracted by a snorting, sniveling sound and looked down, finding the Trubbish sobbing into his sleeve. “There, there, little one,” he smiled gently, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket. “It’s all right, don’t listen to his words.” He wiped at the hiccuping Trubbish’s eyes, smearing the white silk with oily tears, and the little creature blinked up at him with a discordant whimper. “I meant what I said; you are quite the little beauty,” Francis beamed, petting at its plasticy ears. “And Fantôme thinks so too!”

The Roserade had stepped forward, reaching up and offering a flowery hand and a wide smile, cooing softly.

The Trubbish snorted and buried its face in Francis’ arm dismissively.

“You don’t believe us?” Francis asked. “Very well.”

He knelt down at gently set the Trubbish on the ground. It shifted on its stubby feet, glancing between him and Fantôme nervously, as Francis reached for his belt.

“We have a new friend, Belle,” he said, smiling at the Luxury Ball in his hand. “Would you like to say hello?”

He opened the ball, filling the area with white light and a pungent, noxious stench. A hulking form took shape, covered head-to-toe in garbage, save for a pair of delicate pink ribbons adorning the twin growths on its head. Its sharp-toothed mouth formed into a cheerful, albeit crooked, smile when it looked down at the Trubbish, letting out a happy, rumbling gurgle.

“Belle was my first Pokémon,” Francis said, patting the Garbodor’s hose-like arm. “I was, regrettably, not unlike Philip when I was younger, and had taken to harassing the Trubbish in the alleyway next to my apartment building when I was bored. Not something I am anywhere close to proud of,” he frowned. “One day, while I was back there, a pair of thugs cornered me and demanded I hand over my Pokémon. When I told them I had none, they lost their patience and set their Pinsir on me. Just before it could attack, one brave Trubbish lept from the darkness and struck it with an impressive Acid Spray, sending the thugs running.” He beamed up at the Garbodor, who smiled back with a happy grunt. “Despite how cruel I had been to its kind, this beautiful soul had still come to my rescue. I learned that day what real beauty was, and it is far, far more than what your eyes can see. Or, what your nose can smell, for that matter.”

Belle guffawed, slinging a filthy arm across Francis’ shoulder and hugging him, before turning its attention back to the Trubbish, who was now bouncing excitedly at its feet. Belle plucked the little trash bag up and happily lifted it into the air, gleefully giving it an aerial view of the flowers surrounding them. Fantôme clapped its flowery hands, delighted by the pair of new friends, scattering petals as it danced around the two trash heaps.

Francis beamed at the group, even as his eyes began to water from the smell. He barely cared though; putting up with the odor was a small sacrifice compared to seeing his precious Poison types happy and well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't get too mad at philip, he'll grow up and realize he was a jerk and probably go into business breeding trubbish with such good stats that elite four members will want them


	26. some misguided sense of nobility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i got a request on my art blog for a yoi/hetalia crossover with ameliet. it ended up being less of a crossover, and more of a skating!au with similar themes of sportsmanship and Big Feels, but it did also inspire a little ficlet
> 
> art here:  
> http://artofthero.tumblr.com/post/172263253713

“Al, what the hell happened out there!? You could have made to first in that round and you just flubbed it!”

Alfred smiled sadly into his cell phone, even though he knew Matthew couldn’t see him. “Can’t tell you, Matt. Guess I just don’t have it in me after all.”

“Bullshit, you don’t,” Matthew snapped back. He didn’t even sound that angry with him, just… so very, very frustrated. “For as long as we’ve both been skating - you don’t just make an easy mistake like that!”

“We all have our off days,” Alfred replied stoically. He propped his elbows against his knees, bending to rest his head on one hand and stare down at the floor between his legs. He felt small, isolated, curled up on the toilet in a locked stall of the stadium restroom, but he couldn’t let Matt know that. He was already disappointed that Alfred placed so low, if he knew the real reason…

 _I made the right decision,_ Alfred told himself firmly. His ankle hurt and his heart ached, but he wasn’t doing this for himself.

“Al…” Matthew’s voice was softer now. Seemed he’d ranted himself out. Not surprising - outside of the rink, he was almost never angry for more than a moment. “Was it the crowd? The pressure? I get it, I’ve been through the same stuff, so you know you can talk to me.”

_No, Matt, no you don’t get it. You haven’t been through this._

_You’ve never looked across the rink and fallen in madly love with the other goalie._

“Nothing to say,” Alfred said numbly. “I messed up. That’s all there is to it.”

“Alfred-”

“Tell Dad and Papa I love them,” Alfred cut in. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

“Al-!”

He hung up before Matthew could say anything else, and stared blankly at the tile floor. He wanted to cry - he’d been so close. Even if he only took bronze, he could have died happy, standing tall under all those lights and all those watching eyes, everyone back home so proud of him, everyone across the nation celebrating with him…

He couldn’t stand the thought of hogging all that glory to himself anymore, not when someone else deserved it far more than he did.

The bathroom door opened and he nearly jumped out of his skin, scrambling to catch his phone. He hurriedly wiped his eyes, just in case he had shed tears, and fumbled with the lock, putting on his bravest face and preparing to meet with the public once more. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to see America’s golden boy all broken up over a bad round, he had to make sure there was hope for next time!

Even though he already knew he’d be throwing each round from then on, until he was no longer in a position to steal victory from the one person he couldn’t stand to hurt that way.

And, speak of the devil, Toris was standing right there in the bathroom, looking at Alfred as if he’d known exactly where he’d been hiding.

Alfred froze for a second, momentarily starstruck and lovesick, before slapping on a winning smile. “Well, you did great today, huh?”

He offered his hand to shake it, then remembered he’d been hiding in the toilet stall, and rushed to the sink to maintain the illusion.

Toris didn’t say anything, and his chest felt tight.

“Sure put me in my place,” he laughed awkwardly, wringing his hands under the water. He glanced up at the mirror, watching Toris’s reflection behind him, trying desperately to read his expression. “Heh, shows what I get for being such a glory-hound, huh?”

Toris stayed silent, arms folded and watching him until Alfred turned back around, fumbling with a paper towel.

“So, uh, congrats then?” Alfred smiled weakly, offering his hand again. Toris didn’t take it.

“You threw that round.”

It wasn’t a question. Alfred looked nervously up into Toris’s eyes - such pretty green eyes - and his smile faltered under that stare.

“Wha - I-I dunno what you mean,” he stuttered, letting out an unconvincing laugh.

“You flubbed a novice jump and didn’t even try to get back your momentum in the second half,” Toris said flatly. “I’ve seen you skate - you’ve improvised your way back into some of the most difficult routines I’ve ever seen. You don’t make easy mistakes like that.”

He didn’t look angry. Alfred wasn’t sure what feeling he was expressing. But, he looked almost concerned…?

“Please, just honor me as your rival,” Toris continued. “And tell me why you didn’t go for the win when you were so far ahead?”

“I…” Alfred mumbled, wringing his hands together. 

_How can you just ask me to break your heart like that?_

He made the mistake of looking back up at those pretty green eyes. 

_Fuck. I can’t lie to him…_

“I… threw the round… because I want you to win,” he admitted, feeling small and pathetic, staring down at his shoes. “If I’m out of the bracket, then it’s gonna be easier for you to get gold in the end. I… I respect you too much to take that victory away from you.”

He heard Toris sigh, and suddenly felt much worse.

“Jones, for god’s sake… I don’t care about getting gold, or silver or anything.”

“Huh?” Surprised, Alfred looked up. Toris was shaking his head, a wry smile on his lips.

“I’m here to skate,” Toris said firmly, looking back up at him. “And to show the world what myself and my country are capable of. If that capability wins me a medal, then that’s great. If not, then I’ve still made a name for myself, and brought some fame to my homeland. That’s all I can ask for.”

“Oh…”

“And if _some people,_ ” he added, forcefully pressing a hand to Alfred’s chest. “Are letting me take that without a real challenge out of some misguided sense of nobility, then I’m _hardly_ getting the chance to show how capable I actually am, aren’t I?”

Alfred felt his face go hot all the way up to his ears, heart leaping into his throat. Toris’s hand was solid against his chest, _defiant,_ and the look in his eyes was an undeniable challenge. He even smirked, almost playfully, as he gave Alfred a harmless shove and took a step back.

“If you really respect me,” he continued. “Then you’ll do me the honor of having a proper competition next time. If I’m going to win this, it’s going to be through my own skill, not someone else’s misplaced chivalry. Understand?”

Swallowing, Alfred nodded. “Y-yeah, I get it.”

Toris’s smile softened, and he extended a hand. “Best of luck, then.”

Alfred took his hand and shook it with a relieved sigh. “Thanks. Same to you.”


End file.
